


Ghost

by aggiepuff



Series: Altered [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Extended Alternate Universe, F/M, Human Experimentation, Lena likes shiny things, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mutants, Nick Fury has weird taste in trinkets, SHIELD contractor, Tags to be added, Thief girl - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23039764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: Magdalena Ramirez. At least, that's her name now. She prefers Lena.A man-made thing, she was trained to be Cuba's perfect Asset. Too bad they couldn't burn the Soul from her.She leaves her masters in their ashes and escapes to the United States - except she stole from the King of Thieves so now she has to avoid New Orleans for a few decades. Good thing she found some friends in the X-Men. But then a one-eyed man in black leather knocks on the door and, well, she's never been one to turn down a challenge.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Altered [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640266
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

She is eleven when her Mark appears. Her left shoulder burns and she knows.

Cold crawls up her spine and anxiety wells in her belly. The target disappears into his compound, but she can’t bring herself to care. Her only thought is, _Master._

Master’s cold brown eyes fix on her Mark. He doesn’t speak but his lips purse and her shoulders tense. He hands her off to an attendant, one of the nameless people who work in the facility. They escort her to the 8 by 5 room where she sleeps.

She stretches out on the mattress. It’s soft, with downy covers and smooth sheets, a juxtaposition to the concrete walls and cold tile floor. She sits up, unable to rest, twisting around trying to look at her shoulder. Plum letters tattooed down her bicep, dark against her bronze skin, upside down and unreadable.

She frowns at them. Master’s face flashes before her eyes. Steel straightens her spine. They’ll take the words from her or, when she finds her Mate, they’ll kill them, maybe even make her kill them. She blinks back tears, scowling.

She overhears their plan. They want to burn the Mark from her skin, burn the soul right out of her. Well, she’ll burn them first.

She is always so good, so obedient. She is their Crowning Achievement, the product of decades of experimentation and failed tests finally culminating in her, their perfect asset. They never think she might use what they taught her against them.

Master’s is the last throat she slits. The others never saw her but Master she lets see. She flickers into sight, her blade slashes across his throat, crimson splashes across her face. She watches the light fade from his cold brown eyes and fierce satisfaction roars in her chest.

She leaves the facility burning, the only people she has ever known buried in the smoldering rubble, their charred husks the only things left to understand that her Soulmark is _hers_ , not another thing for anyone to take or destroy.

She emerges from the jungle grubby, sticks and leaves sprouting from her hair, pants and shirt torn and stained. She finds a priest, begs for shelter in his Church. The priest, Padre Estefan, does better than providing shelter. When she tells him of escaping men who killed her parents and stole her away, he secures a Peter Pan visa and a name—Magdalena Ramirez—gives her twenty-five American dollars, and places her on a plane bound for Miami along with other children escaping the rise of Fidel Castro.

She slips away from the nuns minding them after spending two weeks recuperating in a Catholic shelter. Lena doesn’t much trust in God, not these days, not when she knows she is man-made. A test tube thing. The crucifix in the chapel where they expect her to pray sends chills down her spine. How can God want her? He didn't make her.

Lena finds her way to another city, a crescent city in a swamp far from Miami.

* * *

Lena finds lucrative opportunities in the city called New Orleans. Pickpocketing, mostly. She learns fast going after the locals is a bad idea. Most of those who live and work in the French Quarter where she’s set up shop have charms against thieves, pendants around necks and carvings in buildings spelled to zap miscreants with sparks of power. But the tourist trade booms in the French Quarter, constantly full of new outsiders with heavy pockets, so she doesn’t leave.

An old woman selling muffulettas and thick loaves of bread trades the odds and ends with Lena for the couple of dollars she steals from visitors. For a couple more coins Old Sylvie will tell Lena stories of the locals passing by.

“Tha’s the White Devil,” Old Sylvie whispers one day, watching a tall man with thick, dark hair prowl across the square. He twirls a staff lazily in his long fingers. “ _Le Diable Blanc_. Now don’ you go messin’ wi’ him, _petit fantôme_. I know you’re good, but he be th’ King o’ Thieves rou’ here.”

Lena tilts her head, chews her scrap of bread slowly. She never speaks, hasn’t spoken since she begged Padre Estefan for help, but her bright blue eyes, blinking curiously up at Old Sylvie, speak for her.

“The Thief’s Guild,” Old Sylvie explains, husky voice quiet so none but Lena can hear. “You’re good enough you cou’ join”—Lena makes a face; Old Sylvie laughs—“no, I di’n think you’d be for joinin’. So you best be stayin’ away from _Le Diable Blanc_ , _non_?”

Lena doesn’t respond. She watches the man weave through the crowds. Her fingers itch. Free from Masters, free from labs and training and missions. For the first time, Lena has control over her life—and she’s _bored_. She needs a challenge, something to do, an adrenaline rush.

A pair of men in business suits approach Old Sylvie and Lena slips away.

She stuffs the last of her bread in her mouth, thinking. Movement at the corner of her eye catches her attention. _Le Diable Blanc_ swings his staff lazily, confident and calm as he strolls down the sidewalk.

Lena doesn’t make a conscious decision. Before she is aware of a plan, she fades from sight, following _Le Diable Blanc_.

He can’t see her, no one can see her. Invisibility is the gift of her artificial birth. Lena dodges through the crowds, always keeps _Le Diable Blanc_ in sight. He’s so comfortable here in this seedy section of the crescent city. When she judges the moment right, Lena slips up next to him, past him.

She comes away with a wad of cash bigger than any she’s gotten before and a stone amulet glowing violet. _Le Diable Blanc_ stops and Lena darts away, pilfered treasures cradled to her chest. A block between them, she stops, drops her invisibility, turns.

_Le Diable Blanc_ stands where she left him, touching his pockets, looking around. His eyes catch hers. Icy fear races up her spine.

His eyes are _red_.

Lena runs.

* * *

Power sparks at Remy’s fingertips. Anger flares bright and hot in his chest. He races after the urchin who stole his amulet. He almost catches the child when she darts around a corner but, when he reaches out, fully rounds the corner, his hand closes on air. He looks around wildly. The girl is gone.

He growls, a deep rumble in his chest. That amulet was important. The witch woman said it would lead him to his Soulmate. That the amulet would always let him find her, a guarantee to safeguard dark purple words on his forearm: _It's mine. I stole it fair and square._

He’s had his Mark a mere nine months, but Remy loves his Soulmate already and he will pay any price, take any precaution to ensure he finds her—and no thieving girl-child will stop him.

Remy returns to the witch woman and asks for another amulet. When the witch woman asks what happened to the first, she howls in laughter at hearing of its theft. “ _Yon ti fi te vòlè soti nan dyab la blan_ ,” she cackles in Haitian, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Remy scowls. “If you’re done, _mamere_?”

The witch woman straightens, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I am done,” she giggles. “But, why do you want a new amulet?”

“Because the girl stole the first one!”

The witch woman shakes her head, beads in her braids clacking. “All is as it should be, _Diable Blanc_ , you will see.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lena hops off the freight car in a city that smells of brine and fire. The cash from the pockets of a man who thought her an easy target buys her dinner at a 24-hour diner on a downtown street corner. Burger and fries finished and chocolate milkshake half gone, she leans back in the vinyl booth and fiddles with the amulet around her neck.

The stone glints blackish purple in the fluorescent light. She eyes it speculatively. It hasn't glowed since the day she lifted it off _Le Diable Blanc_ some forty years before. She still dreams of his red eyes. Some days she thinks she should sell the bauble. It must be valuable, with its silver setting and shining finish that never needs polishing, but she can't bring herself to remove it from around her neck, let alone hand it to a stranger, no matter the money it might bring.

The bell above the door jingles. A girl, dark skin bruised and black curls wild, enters the diner. She can't be more than thirteen.

The waitress behind the counter, a grandmotherly woman with gray hair and bright blue eyes, smiles kindly at her. “Hey, Callie.”

The girl, Callie, smiles meekly back, ducking her head. Lena watches the way she moves. She keeps her back to empty spaces without looking up, as if she knows by instinct the positions of everyone in the diner.

“Here,” the waitress places a sandwich on the bar and Callie sits gingerly on the stool. 

Lena watches her eat, the way she picks small pieces and nibbles at it. Callie's hand circles protectively around the plate, shoulders hunched as if trying to be as small as possible. When she finishes the sandwich and the bag of chips the waitress places before her, Callie takes her plate and quietly slips into the kitchen.

When the waitress comes by to refill Lena’s coffee, Lena asks, “Who’s the girl?”

The waitress eyes her. Lena looks anywhere between sixteen and twenty-three in ratty jeans and leather jacket, with thick black hair, olive skin and cobalt eyes. She's not a complete delinquent but she's clearly not an upstanding member of society either. “Why do you want to know?” the waitress asks suspiciously.

“I’m new in town,” she says with a shrug, attempting innocence, “and she looks like she knows a good place to stay.”

The waitress humphs. “Callie's staying at St. Mark’s Haven on Thomas Street. It's a good place. Safe.”

Lena grins at her. “Sounds perfect.” She pulls out a couple extra bills. “Thanks for the directions.” She leaves the money on the table and exits the diner. Up ahead, Callie passes under a streetlamp. “Hey,” Lena calls, “wait up!”

Callie flinches at her voice but stops, turning slowly. Lena smiles down at her. “Hi, I’m Magdalena, but everyone calls me Lena. I hear you’ve got a good place to crash. Any chance you can take me to St. Mark’s Haven?”

Callie nods and starts walking again without a word. Lena tilts her head curiously but follows along silently. Every so often Callie glances at her, frowning. They’re turning a corner after thirty minutes of walking when Callie finally speaks. “You don’t hurt…”

Lena blinks at her. “What?”

Callie shakes her head, shrinking in on herself. “Nothing.”

“You sure?’

Callie nods, hurrying on.

Lena jogs to catch up. “You got powers or something?” she presses. When Callie trips, looking around at her with terrified gray eyes, Lena knows she struck a chord. “Cause I’ve never met anyone else who’s got powers,” she rambles on. “I’ve got powers, you know? I can turn invisible. Great for my line of work and playing tricks on _barracho pendejos_. But it would be nice to know I’m not the only one. What about you, _chica_?”

Callie blinks at her. “You don’t hurt,” she repeats.

“Not right now, no.”

Callie shakes her head. “No—I—You don’t hurt me.”

Lena tilts her head. “Why would I hurt you?”

“No one ever means to,” Callie whispers, “but it’s being around them. It hurts up here,” she taps her head, “and here,” she taps her chest. She looks at Lena curiously. “But you don’t. You’re there, I can still feel you, but it doesn’t _hurt_.”

“Telepath?” Lena guesses. It’s a new word, foreign on her tongue. She’s only ever heard it once when—before, with Master.

Callie shakes her head. “Empath.”

* * *

Lena sticks with Callie. The kid needs looking after. Abusive father, living on the streets since Valentine’s Day, half starved. Besides, Lena likes her. When Lena touches Callie’s skin, the noise in her head isn’t deafening and Callie teaches her about people. Lena’s never been good at people, but Callie is. Callie is _really good_ with people.

Three months into living in Charleston, Lena finds them a dingy apartment. Not the best place to live but the locks work and there’s privacy; Lena hadn’t liked the way some of the older boys at St. Mark’s were eyeing Callie.

Six months after they move into the apartment, Lena is coming home from a job—an art gallery heist—envelope of cash heavy in her pocket, when she turns a corner and sees three adults, a man and two women, loitering a block up from her apartment building. They seem normal enough, but Lena’s instincts scream. She ducks into an alcove. Back pressing against worn brick, she breathes deep, lets it out, disappears.

The man and women are still there, looking for all the world like lost tourists but no tourist ever comes this far into the ghetto. Lena slips past, ghosting over the rough sidewalk, stopping a few feet from them to listen.

“The Professor said they’d be around here—”

“But where, Summers? Charlie didn’t—”

“One of them is here.” The redhead closes her eyes, turns slowly. When she opens her brilliant blue eyes, she’s staring directly at Lena.

Cold fear engulfs Lena. She stays perfectly still. The woman can’t see her. Lena _knows_ she can’t see her.

“Jean, what are you talking about? No one’s there.”

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Jean says, ignoring the man. “We want to help. There’s a school we can take you to. You’ll be safe there.”

 _School—lessons—trapped—pain—death_. Pressure and panic pushes on Lena’s chest. She gasps for breath.

A warm hand grips hers. Something cool and soothing enters her mind, pushes away the panic. “It's okay,” Callie promises, sliding up behind her. “They want to help.”

Lena glances down at the younger girl. Skin on skin as they are, their gifts pass to the other, Lena’s invisibility shifting to accommodate Callie, and Callie bringing up calm to roll through their joined hands and fill Lena so she can think.

The panic recedes.

“You promise?” Lena whispers.

Callie nods. “Nothing bad, only concern.”

Lena nods, shifting around to stand in front of Callie without releasing her hand, lets her invisibility drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cajun French  
> http://www.tech-faq.com/cajun-slang.html  
> https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-terms-of-endearment/  
> http://www.crazycajuns.net/about-us/speaking-cajun/  
> Le Diable Blanc – The White Devil
> 
> Spanish/Cuban Spanish  
> https://lovebondings.com/spanish-terms-of-endearment  
> Barracho pendejos – drunken idiots  
> chica – girl 


	3. Chapter 3

The black-haired woman with the bright green eyes is Cora Redrock and she’s been alive even longer than Lena. She walks Lena through opening a trust, so she doesn’t have to keep being paid in cash. Lena signs Cora up as a co-trustee then has a hacker friend bury it through so many shell accounts it would take a hundred years to find.

After a week at Xavier’s Institute she gets a job in Prague. When she returns, Cora raises an eyebrow. “Interesting international headlines,” she comments.

Lena’s grin is unrepentant.

Jean Gray is less blasé. “What were you thinking?” she snaps, dragging Lena into an empty classroom.

Lena’s insides go rage-cold. She takes a single brick from her mental wall and shoves every memory of death and cruelty she has at Jean. The redhead’s knees buckle. She clutches her head.

“Do not think for one moment,” Lena says coldly, accent thick in her fury, “that I answer to you. _You_ are a child to me, as I am a child to Cora.”

Jean stumbles back, knocks over a chair.

“Magdalena, that’s enough.”

Lena turns. The Professor watches her with cool blue eyes. Lena shoves the mental brick back into place. She pauses by the Professor’s chair, “Tell your watchdog to stay out of my business.” She marches from the room.

* * *

Lena can’t stay in one place. She can’t settle like Callie, can’t get comfortable around people who want to know her for no ulterior reasons; it makes her skin crawl. Cora and Callie are the exceptions. Callie because in the months they shared their shitty apartment, their relationship was symbiotic. Callie used Lena for protection and security, Lena used Callie for peace and understanding. They know each other as they know no one else.

Cora becomes a refuge by her complete lack of judgment. It doesn’t seem to matter what Lena was doing, what the headlines are after she returns from a business trip, Cora always treats her the same. Lena even hears her telling Summers to back off when he questions Lena’s continued welcome at Xavier’s.

Lena shoves clothes into her black canvas bag. Callie watches her from the other bed, legs swinging over the side. “You’re sure you can’t stay?”

Lena tosses her a fond smile. “You know me, I need to see new places. Besides, _estarás bien aquí_. Cora’ll look after you, _hermanita_. Y’know she’s talking _adopcíon_.”

“Adoption? Me?”

“ _Sí, pequeña mariposa_. I heard her talking with the professor. Apparently, she likes you so much she wants to keep you.”

Callie beams.

Lena laughs. “Yeah, see? Cora’s got you. You’ll be all good.”

“But you’ll come back to visit, right?”

“Of course I will! Not even those grumps, Grey and Summers, can keep me away. I’ll visit so often you’ll get sick of me, _lo prometo_.”

Lena’s in Budapest, diamonds and pink sapphires heavy in her pocket, when a man and woman barrel around the corner, ducking a spray of bullets. The crowds scatter and her training kicks in.

She follows the troublemakers, unseen. They lose the men with guns in six blocks, but they still don’t stop, simply slow their pace to a casual stroll. Lena trots after them, curiosity peaked. 

They wind through back alleys and crowded market squares, never stopping, always turning a new direction, ducking into buildings and out side doors. They’re not using the same training beaten into Lena as a child, but it’s close.

Finally, the pair vanish into a hotel, one of those picturesque places with a bellboy. It’s far more luxurious than anyplace Lena ever stays. She slips into the elevator with them, pressing against the wall beside the door and freezes, facing the pair.

The redhead twitches, looking around with sharp sea glass eyes. The man opens his mouth but the redhead shakes her head, frowning and tilting her head, as if listening. Lena slows her breathing to silence.

They exit the elevator on the 36th floor. Lena lets them enter room 3617 alone; she won’t follow them into a place she can’t escape unnoticed.

It’s almost midnight when she finally leaves the hotel. Her employer expects her to call in once she has his merchandise and she hands over the strand of diamonds and pink sapphires set into artfully crafted adamantium at 8:30 the next morning. Payment hits her bank and Lena wanders from the market square through a small side entrance.

She stuffs her hands in her pockets as she turns a corner, idly wondering what she should do with the rest of her day. If she were really bored she could wander back to that hotel with the troublemakers, she muses. A flash of red—scarlet curls weaving through the crowd—catches her eye. _Or not_.

Lena follows the redhead. There’s no reason to be invisible, there’s so many people running their daily errands. A crowd of tourists being lectured by a guide blocks her path for a moment and she slides around them.

The redhead is nowhere to be found. Lena glances around, disguising her search as a tourist looking at the sights. For a moment anxiety twists her gut. _Master will be—No. Master is dead, long gone, and I will not be punished for failing._

She continues down the street. If she doesn’t find the redhead on the next block she’ll find an internet cafe and grab a plane ticket back to the States. Callie’s birthday is in two weeks and Lena needs to ask Cora for her birthday wish list.

* * *

Cora waits for Lena on the tarmac. “ _Madre Dios_ ,” Lena laughs. “What are you doing here?”

Cora grins. “Picking up my birthday present for Callie.”

“I’m the birthday present?”

“And you’re totally going to help me win.”

“Win?”

“Rogue bet she has the best birthday present. I couldn’t just let her win.”

Lena laughs. “Of course you couldn’t.”

“Knew you’d understand. What’d you get her?”

“My presence isn’t enough?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish/Cuban Spanish  
> https://lovebondings.com/spanish-terms-of-endearment  
> estarás bien aquí – you’ll be fine here  
> hermanita – little sister  
> adopcíon – adoption  
> Sí, pequeña mariposa – Yes, little butterfly  
> lo prometo – I promise  
> Madre Dios – Mother of God


	4. Chapter 4

Callie’s sweet sixteen bash is well underway when Deadpool sidles up to Lena. She knows that, like her, Deadpool’s brain chemistry is so abnormal he doesn’t hurt Callie either. That alone endears him to Lena. 

“The writer thinks we should team up,” he says cheerfully.

Lena raises and eyebrow. Of course, wacky brain chemistry could also mean the man is just insane. “Really?”

“Yep! She wants to know how big a migraine we can give Cora. She’s also kicking herself because Fury was supposed to be waiting here to meet you. Oh,” Deadpool points, “there he is!”

A tall black man scowls down at Cora in the entrance hall. Cora crosses her arms, eyebrow rising. He gestures in Lena’s direction. Cora glances around, sees Lena and Deadpool watching. She sighs and waves Lena over.

“See you later,” Lena says, leaving Deadpool to stand behind Cora. She’s not an empath and she’s not usually good at reading people but Lena knows she shouldn’t trust this man by the way Cora eyes him warily.

“Magdalena,” Cora says, “this is Director Nicholas Fury of SHIELD. Director, this is my daughter, Magdalena Ramirez.”

Lena glances sharply at Cora.

Cora grins. “I forgot to tell you, the adoption papers came in this morning. I know you were worried the Courts wouldn’t approve the adoption of a seventeen-year-old, since you’re almost legal and everything, but it’s all taken care of. You are officially, legally mine and you are never getting rid of me.”

Lena understands subtle. She plays along, wrapping Cora in a hug. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Cora laughs, returning the hug briefly before pulling back. “Don’t thank me yet,” she says. “Your adoption is what led Director Fury here.”

Lena looks at him. He’s tall, straight-backed, bald, dressed in all black, a black patch over one eye. He radiates authority and confidence. Lena’s stolen from the King of Thieves and even she wouldn’t pick this man’s pocket for a million dollars.

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” Director Fury asks.

“Of course,” Cora says in that falsely pleasant way she has, the one that reminds Lena of a wolf waiting to pounce. She gestures to the front parlor, empty of party guests, and closes the sliding doors behind them. The music from Callie’s party trickles faintly through the cracks under and between the doors but they are closed off from the rest of the mansion.

Cora settles comfortably onto the plush couch, crossing her legs and looking expectantly at Fury. “How can we help you, Director?”

Lena slides behind the couch. If something goes wrong, she doesn’t want to be between Cora and her prey.

“It’s come to my attention that Miss Ramirez is a lot more than your newly adopted daughter.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“Cut the crap, Redrock.”

“I would watch your tone, Director,” Cora says, smiling, still too pleasant to be anything but dangerous. 

Fury bristles. Lena thinks it might be more from fear than anger. “I mean, she has quite the resume,” Fury says tightly, “and SHIELD would like to offer her a job.”

Lena tenses, back rigid, muscles tight. She doesn’t know SHIELD, has never heard of them, but they sound governmental. Like _Dirección de Inteligencia_ and… _Master_. 

Cora’s eyes narrow. “You wish to hire my daughter?”

“A contract position,” Fury growls. “This would be a trial run and, if it works, well, we could make it more permanent.”

“Thoughts, Lena?”

“ _No trabajo para hombres sin rostro_.”

“As you can see, I have a face.”

Lena frowns. “But do your bosses?”

Fur’s scowls melts into a smirk. “Work for me and you’ll find out.”

Lena shifts her weight, takes a breath. “One contract,” she says, “and if I say we’re done after that, then we’re done. If I say we are done a year from now, ten years from now, at any time, we are done.”

Fury opens his mouth.

“You heard her, Nicholas,” Cora cuts him off. “The contract is on her terms. And I will bind you and all of SHIELD with blood to make it so.”

Fury’s hard eyes flick to her. “You don’t have that power, Redrock.”

“Not I,” Cora says, her voice turning cold, ancient, “but I have favors owed and power in the wings. Must I call them?”

Fury stands abruptly, pulling a folder from the folds of his jacket. “Your first target,” he snaps, shoving the folder at Lena.

She doesn’t open it. “ _No mataré al comando_.”

“I’m not asking you to. This is a retrieval. Collect the item for us, and you will be compensated.”

Lena nods, flipping the folder open. “Timetable?” The page shows a stone, roughly the size of a brick, studded with raw gems and etched with strange Nordic symbols.

“Two weeks.”

“Location?”

“New Orleans.”

Lena barely blinks but her insides quiver. It’s been almost fifty years since she fled the Crescent City, fear of a man with bloody eyes and a demon’s name coursing through her veins. _He’s gone_ , she tells herself, _dead and gone. Has to be._

She turns her attention back to the folder. The stone brick is…interesting. The picture makes it look like it’s glowing. “Pretty,” she says, looking back up at Fury, “but are you sure you want this? I mean, I can always get you the Lion of Gilgamesh. Or maybe the Star of India? How ‘bout a Vermeer? I know who has the good ones.”

Fury scowls. 

Lena’s eyebrows rise. “Right. Weird Viking stone it is.” She closes the folder. “I take half payment up front. Cora will tell you where to put it. You get the stone when I get my money.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish/Cuban Spanish  
> https://lovebondings.com/spanish-terms-of-endearment  
> Dirección de Inteligencia - Intelligence Directorate - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Direcci%C3%B3n_de_Inteligencia  
> No trabajo para hombres sin rostro – I do not work for faceless men.  
> No mataré al comando – I will not kill on command


	5. Chapter 5

Lena eyes the front façade of the National World War II Museum. Glass windows all the way to the roof, modern architecture, a tank on the front lawn. No guards at the doors, not even metal detectors inside. She frowns. 

The pamphlet in her hand details the journey through the museum, explaining visitors receive the name of a serviceman or -woman who fought and they can follow them through the war using the museum as a roadmap. It’s the back section that interests her, though. The special collections exhibit filled with artifacts recovered by Allied troops from Hydra, the Nazi science division. That’s where her weird Viking stone is housed, on a pedestal in the middle of a dark room, encased in pressure sensitive glass with its own special alarm.

Well, Lena’s stolen from under the nose of far more sophisticated security systems. Like that time in Bahrain, and then there was St. Petersburg and the Kremlin. Those were fun. 

She follows a gaggle of children on a field trip through the museum, using their chaos to mask her invisible movement. When the children enter the Hydra exhibit, Lena slips into shadow, leaning against a wall and out of the way. 

Hidden, invisible, she waits.

Hours pass, museum visitors come and go. The last is an elderly couple, the wife pushing her husband in a wheelchair, and he almost cries seeing the Hydra symbol on the flag on the wall. 

“ _Zabili moich rodziców. Zabili wszystkich_ ,” he tells his wife. Leaning forward he spits on the floor. “ _Do diabła z nimi_.”

It’s fifteen minutes past midnight when Lena makes her move. Guards have checked the room every hour, on the hour, since the museum closed at 5. She has 45 minutes before the next patrol to get the stone and get to the front entrance. If she times it right, she’ll be able to make her escape when the police arrive.

She leans her backpack against her bare leg, ensuring its continued invisibility with skin contact. Her tools are low-tech, but they work. This retrieval doesn’t require stealth. An easy smash-and-grab will cover her tracks just as well and give the impression of an amateur thief. 

A ring of acid creates a nice porthole. She doesn’t bother disabling the alarm. She snatches the stone from its pedestal and shoves all of her tools back in her bag as the alarm screams. She dodges out of the Hydra exhibit and behind a display of bayonets and rifles just as the guards come charging around the corner. 

Adrenaline thrums through her veins as one of the guards shines a flashlight directly into her eyes. The beam of light moves away just as quickly as it lands and the hallway is clear. 

Lena dashes for the atrium. The guards will check the whole museum, but they won’t think to look at the atrium. It’s a wide-open space, no places to hide. 

She waits by the door. In the distance she hears sirens. A moment later, three cruisers slide to a stop in the parking lot. 

Her muscles tense. Six uniforms burst from their cars. They run for the door. A guard meets them, unlocking it for them. Lena waits on the opposite side of the opening, waiting for the last of the cops, a stocky brunette, to clear the doorway. She slips out of the museum, the guard closing and locking the door behind her.

* * *

Lena munches happily on her muffuletta in the open air of Chartres House on the corner of Chartres Street in The Quarter. She pops a fry into her mouth and sits back. On the TV in the corner a news anchor reports on the puzzling burglary of the World War II Museum. 

She suppresses a smirk, fingering the violet amulet around her neck, basking in the southern sun. Slowly, so slowly she doesn’t even notice, the amulet begins to warm. Only when it starts to burn her fingers does she glance down. 

The amulet glows against her chest like a coal in a fire, purple and smoldering, but not leaving a single mark on her skin. “What the—"

“ _That is quite a charm,_ _chere_.”

Lena whirls. Her shoulder tingles.

 _Le Diable Blanc_ smiles down at her, eyes so dark she can’t tell if they’re red or black. Calmly, casually, he takes the seat across from her, his smile careless, leaning back, legs sprawled, bo staff held lazily in his long fingers.

Lena clutches her amulet. “ _It’s mine. I stole it fair and square,_ ” she says, voice shaking, body trembling. She doesn’t know what he’ll do, but she stole from the White Devil, from the King of Thieves. She’s been waiting for him to find her for almost fifty years.

The color drains from _Le Diable Blanc_ ’s face. He swallows hard, all his confidence and swagger gone. 

She sits, rigid, her free hand wrapping around the strap of her backpack, ready to run. 

“I think we should talk,” he says. 

Lena licks her lips. “Why?”

Le Diable Blanc smirks, confidence returned. “I think you know why, _mon coeur_.”

Lena tilts her head. Something in her chest flutters. _My heart_. The tingling in her shoulder hasn’t stopped. She blinks and relief washes over her. She takes a breath, a smile breaking across her face. 

Her Mark. He said her Mark. 

The clock in Jackson Square chimes. Lena tilts her head. “ _Lo siento, mi teroso_.” Still smiling, she triggers her mutation, slowly disappearing. “ _Pero...estoy trabajando_ ,” she whispers, slipping around him. 

_Le Diable Blanc_ looks around, unseeing gaze following her voice. 

Lena leans down, brushes a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back soon. _Lo prometo._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Note: I highly recommend the National WWII Museum in New Orleans if you’re ever visiting. It’s very well done and I enjoyed it immensely. Also, Chartres House in the French Quarter is amazing!
> 
> Polish  
> Zabili moich rodziców. Zabili wszystkich – They killed my parents. They killed everyone  
> Do diabła z nimi – To hell with them
> 
> Cajun French  
> http://www.tech-faq.com/cajun-slang.html  
> https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-terms-of-endearment/  
> http://www.crazycajuns.net/about-us/speaking-cajun/  
> chere – dear  
> mon coeur – my heart  
> Le Diable Blanc – The White Devil
> 
> Spanish/Cuban Spanish  
> https://lovebondings.com/spanish-terms-of-endearment  
> Lo siento, mi teroso – I’m sorry, my treasure  
> Pero...estoy trabajando – But ...I’m working.  
> lo prometo – I promise


	6. Chapter 6

Lena leaves the weird Viking brick with Cora. 

Cora holds it up to the light, the uncut gems sparkling dully. “Fury has weird taste in trinkets.”

“No kidding. You’ll give it to him?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass it on. Where are you going?”

“I left something in New Orleans.”

Cora laughs. “You’ve got a dangerous look in your eyes, baby girl.”

Lena grins. “Well, yeah. I’m about to go have some fun.”

Cora shakes her head. “Well, go on. Before Jean sees you.”

“ _Gracias_ , _Mamá_.”

* * *

Lena sits on a bench in Jackson Square. It’s the same place Old Sylvie had her muffuletta and bread cart. The heady scent of pastries and sugar wafts down from Café du Monde. A trolley chimes around the corner and a paddleboat blows its horn from the river. 

A large black man settles on the bench beside her and Lena eyes him. He’s well dressed, three-piece suit and shiny patent leather shoes, with a glittering ring on his pinky. She smiles. “So, it’s lackies, then.”

“Boss been lookin’ for you,” the man drawls, a twinkle in his black eyes. 

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” she says. 

“Not what I heard.”

“I was working,” Lena protests. “He shouldn’t’ve interrupted!”

The man’s laugh rumbles in his chest and he shakes his head. “C’mon then, _petit fantôme_.” 

Lena jerks, staring at the man with wide eyes.

The man grins. “Great gramma Sylvie always liked to tell stories about the little thief girl who stole from the King. She used to laugh and laugh.”

“She was good people,” Lena says with a grin.

“That she was,” he agrees with a rumbling laugh. “Now, le’s go. Boss ain’t gonna wai’ forevah.”

Lena shakes her head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

He frowns. 

Lena grins, tilting her head back to look at the bright blue sky. “If your boss wants me, I’m not going anywhere.”

A large hand wraps around her arm.

With a flick of her wrist, Lena angles a dagger into his thigh, pressing the tip into the skin above his femoral artery. He immediately retracts his hand. Lena is less quick to remove her dagger. She lets it sit there, point digging through his jeans; 7.5lbs more of pressure and he’s dead. Inside her shirt, her amulet glows warmly against her skin.

Finally, Lena looks down, impassive gaze fixing on the man. “Tell your boss that I’m right here. I will not be going anywhere with anyone. If he wants to talk he can come find me himself.” 

“Now, _chere_ , there be no reason to go threatenin’ a man like that,” a new voice drawls behind her.

Lena grins, pulling back her dagger. “Can’t be too careful.”

_Le Diable Blanc_ takes the man’s seat, staff propped against his knee, fedora tilted jauntily, covering his right eye. He smiles at her, white teeth flashing against tan skin, dark eyes glittering. “So, _mon couer_ ,” he says once they are alone, “are you gonna run off again?”

Lena returns his smirk. “I’m not working right now.”

“The museum?”

Lena tilts her head. “Is it open? I’ve never been.”

_Le Diable Blanc_ laughs. “Tha’s fair. What brings you to New Orleans?”

“Unfinished business. And I haven’t visited in a while.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Lena glances at him sharply. “Didn’t your—What’s the word? _Locayo_? Henchman? Yes, that’s it. Your henchman. Didn’t he tell you?”

_Diable Blanc_ tilts his head. “Tell me what?”

“ _Le Petit Fantôme_. That’s what Old Sylvie used to call me.”

“She been gone a long time,” he says idly.

“So have I.”

“Where did you get my amulet?”

Lena smiles, small and secret. “I told you. It’s mine. I stole it fair and square. You should learn to keep better watch of your pockets.”

_Diable Blanc_ 's eyebrows rise. “You're dat little minnow girl?” He asks, using the thief word for child pickpockets who swim through crowds like small fish.

“I’ve graduated from minnow.”

_Le Diable Blanc_ ’s dark eyes rove down her body appreciatively. “That you have. Do I get to know the name of my Soulmate?”

Lena considers. The name she uses is Lena, shortened from Magdalena, the name given to her by Padre Estefan. Before that...she can’t remember what Master called her and it’s not her name anymore, anyway. “Magdelena Ramirez. Call me Lena.”

_Diable Blanc_ smiles. “Lena.” He reaches out and pushes a strand of her hair behind her hair. “Beautiful, _mon couer_.”

“What’s your name?”

“I am Remy Lebeau.”

Lena frowns. She knows that name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish/Cuban Spanish  
> https://lovebondings.com/spanish-terms-of-endearment  
> Gracias, Mamá - Thank you, Mamma
> 
> Cajun French  
> http://www.tech-faq.com/cajun-slang.html  
> https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-terms-of-endearment/  
> http://www.crazycajuns.net/about-us/speaking-cajun/  
> petit fantôme – little ghost  
> mon coeur – my heart  
> Le Diable Blanc – The White Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Cajun French  
> http://www.tech-faq.com/cajun-slang.html  
> https://www.fluentu.com/blog/french/french-terms-of-endearment/  
> http://www.crazycajuns.net/about-us/speaking-cajun/  
> non – no  
> Le Diable Blanc – The White Devil  
> petit fantôme – little ghost  
> mamere – grandmother
> 
> Haitian Creole  
> Yon ti fi te vòlè soti nan dyab la blan – A little girl stole from the White Devil


End file.
